Annie would flip her lid if Edgar was staying in their home.
All the more reason to invite Edgar to stay on as a long-term guest. Maybe it would piss Annie off enough to make her think twice about abandoning her family for pretty-boy coworkers in the future. She would continue to deny that it was on purpose, but Christian was never one to underestimate the power of the unconsciously self-destructive being. Annie had too good of a life to be faithful, to stick by the people that loved her. Instead, she was probably out there, dead in the snow and ice, perhaps sexually satisfied as she greets the afterlife.
“I miss Mammah,” said Paulie, looking up to his father with eyes that reminded Christian of Annie’s—pulsing and deep, drilling deep into his being. “She okay?”
“Your mother’s fine, I’m sure. She’s with her friend Tony. He promised to take care of her and get her back to use safely.”
“Eggah friends with Mammah too?” the boy asked next, prying his eyes open with his tiny fingers, in an attempt to regain focus as sleepiness overwhelmed him.
“I don’t think they know each other. Edgar came here because he was sick. Because he needed somebody to help him.”
“We hep?”
“Yep, we certainly did. We saved his life, Paulie. It was a good thing we did,” said Christian, rubbing Paulie’s cheek as the boy let out a nearly infinite yawn. Paulie smiled at this statement. He clutched his tan teddy bear close to his chest. “You’re a brave boy, you know that?”
Paulie nodded.
“And when your mom gets home, I’m going to tell her how brave you are. She’ll be so proud. Just like your dad,” Christian whispered, leaning across the bed, putting out the candle with the tips of his fingers (something that Paulie usually enjoyed, for its daring nature, though he was too tired to respond at this moment). Now Christian could only see the outline of his boy’s face, beneath the moonlight that snuck in through the skylight of his and Annie’s bedroom.
A quiet snooze escaped from Paulie as he settled into sleep and drifted away.
“Love you, kid.”
Christian sat on the edge of the bed far longer than he expected he would, something tugging at him to stay a little longer, something he could not explain. He didn’t plan on climbing in just yet, but there was something soothing about listening to Paulie’s steady, rhythmic breathing. The boy was a survivor, and he would continue to be one for as long as he lived. There was no doubt in Christian’s mind that Paulie would survive this ordeal.
Why, then, did it feel less certain for Christian himself? And for Annie? Was that why he really wanted Edgar to stick around, so that he could take over if Christian didn’t make it?
It was silly. Of course, Christian would make it, if for no other reason than to assist his son in survival. There was no other option.
Christian stood up from the bed, still staring at his son’s moonlit outline, squirming in the icy air, but cuddled beneath the heavy covers. He stared at his son even as he backed out the door, quietly navigating the maw of darkness, feeling as if he might slip away forever if he ever took his eyes off the sweetest face he’d ever known.
Christian sat up by the fire for an hour or so, wondering where Edgar went while he was putting Paulie down for the night. For a moment, he thought the man had slipped out of the house, off on his way again to his next unknown destination. It was to be expected, sooner or later.
With a reflexive jolt in his knees, Christian stood up suddenly, feeling as if eyes were watching him from the darkness of the kitchen. “Edgar?” he asked, and almost on cue, the stranger stepped from the maw of blackness, holding a second bottle of bourbon in his hand. They’d finished the first one during their afternoon pow-wow. Christian almost chuckled at the sight, adding, “I see you found my stash.” He hadn’t drank this much since college, but he couldn’t glean whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. It felt good to let loose and that was enough for him, for now. Edgar’s affinity to the bottle concerned him, especially with Paulie in the house, but hell… this was the apocalypse after all.
And there was that word again.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Edgar replied, pulling back his lips to reveal shiny white teeth that seemed to glow in the faux-fire’s light. His ruddy, chubby face danced in a way that told Christian he’d already taken a few slugs from the bottom-shelf bourbon.
“Not at all. I’ll join you, in fact. No need to twist my arm,” said Christian. For the second time in the same day, they drank together, speaking in murmurs while Paulie slept, enjoying the creep and snap of the fire, each reflecting on the state of the world as much as they reflected on the oaky (yet sort of putrid) taste of their drinks.
“He’s a good boy,” said Edgar, somewhere deep into the second glass of liquor.
“You bet he is. I’d die for him.”
“As you should,” replied Edgar. Christian heard the statement, but it took a moment to absorb the odd wording of it. Such was the way of Edgar-speak.
Chapter Seven
The wind ceased for an hour or two after they first embarked. They were quite thankful for that reprieve, albeit temporary. Then the bastard wind returned, more bitter cold than before, almost as if it was saving itself up for a really nasty bout. The afternoon was wearing on with a monotonous swooshing sound of ski poles and humming gales.
They still hadn’t arrived at The Purple Cat, and Annie didn’t expect to any time soon. Two miles was just short of a marathon in such heinous conditions, made worse by having a lump of a woman sitting on her butt, doing a whole lot of nothing. Annie wished she could do more to help, but at the same time, she didn’t think she’d be much help anyway.
At one point, they paused to discuss their route and sanity-check each other. The last thing they needed to do was go in the wrong direction, blinded by the snow, or veer off into the abyss. With the infinite whiteness, it was very much like being lost at sea—no matter which direction you looked, it all appeared to be basically the same big blue ocean. Tony was carefully following the tree lines to be sure he was staying on the main road, though it was buried more than a dozen feet beneath them. Thus far, Annie had no question that he was going the right way down route 201. Eventually, that road went all the way to her home, but not today. She may not make it back by tomorrow either, depending how bad it snowed overnight.
Tony’s snow chariot was working out well.
Annie was ashamed to admit it, and she didn’t dare say it out loud and inflate his adventurous ego. But it was a sturdy craft. For once in Tony’s life, his words amounted to more than hot air. During a couple of breathers, they could feel the skis sinking into the slushy surface, so instead of fully halting, he would just slow their continual pace to a near crawl when he needed a timeout. His stamina surprised Annie, as well. Again, she didn’t dare tell him that, thinking it might encourage his sexual advances.
With each lunge of the ski poles, they only covered about three feet. The sheer weight of their makeshift sled was nearly insurmountable. A couple of feet’s progress was better than nothing at all. During her sheer boredom, (Tony refused to let her have a go, stating that her arms were too skinny and she wouldn’t be able to push them) Annie calculated the time it would take to arrive at The Purple Cat.
Five thousand two hundred eighty feet in a mile. With the restaurant being about two miles away, that means Tony would have to push approximately ten thousand and five hundred feet. Each shove moved them an estimated three feet, so it would take thirty five hundred motions. He did one every ten seconds, so that was about three hundred and sixty per hour.